


Best in Show

by Glory1863



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Anthropomorphic, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-20
Updated: 2014-07-20
Packaged: 2018-02-09 17:49:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1992090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glory1863/pseuds/Glory1863
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Don't let his appearance fool you.  He is a purebred, but not for any attribute judged at a kennel club show.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Best in Show

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [He Knew His Scent](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1888194) by [methylviolet10b](https://archiveofourown.org/users/methylviolet10b/pseuds/methylviolet10b). 



> I'm not on LiveJournal, so the only way I know about the July Writing Prompts for Watson's Woes is through the wonderful fics by methylviolet10b. Her response to the Animals, Animals, Animals prompt got me to thinking about one of my favorite Holmesian characters. He has a bit of an attitude, I'm afraid, but is that really so surprising?

If you were to look at me and if you were to be a member of one of those snobbish kennel clubs, then you would undoubtedly call me a mutt.  If, in addition, you were to come from across the Great Water, then you would most likely call me a Heinz 57 varieties.  I don’t pretend to know who or what a Heinz is, nor do I care, but the reference to 57 varieties, although imbued with more than a touch of hyperbole, as well as sarcasm, represents an accurate description of my bloodline.  Over the many long years since the pack of Charles of the bloodline Stuart (the biped, not a Cavalier King Charles Spaniel) and Oliver of the bloodline Cromwell fought for dominance and marked territory upon the moors, my lineage has come to encompass mastiff, German shepherd, Rottweiler and pit bull amongst others.  It is said that there is even a bit of rat terrier.  While I generally have little patience for those small, yapping dogs, except as a snack, I must admit that they can be tenacious and fearless to a fault.  All things considered, I suppose it could be worse.

Dogs are bred for any number of reasons, but in the artificial world of the kennel club dog shows, we are made to fit into one of seven categories:  Toys bred down in size to be companions, perfect for the city dweller and his limited space; herders of flocks; working dogs that guard and guide; sporting dogs that mark, flush and retrieve the game; terriers to control the vermin; hounds to track the prey and run it down; and finally, a non-sporting category that encompasses everything else.  While cogent arguments could be made that the dogs of my line might fit into various and sundry of these classifications, I must confess that there is a delicious irony to being considered non-sporting which is, for me, a source of considerable pride.  You see, I, my sires and any pups that I might sire, have been, and always will be, bred for a singular, special purpose. 

Those so-called elite dogs who prance about at the shows and have no real purpose in life but to do so must concern themselves with frivolous appearances:  Everything from shape of ear to size of muzzle to length of tail must fit within strict parameters as must color of coat and eye.  Carriage must be just so and attitude pleasing.  To be condemned to such a superficial and boring existence would be insupportable to one of my constitution.  I would yip in derision at those who not only accept that lot in life but glory in it - that is, I would if to do so were not beneath my dignity. 

The dogs of my line are purebred for one attribute and one attribute alone, and it is not one judged at any kennel club show.  Look into my eyes, if you dare, and you will see it.  No sad-eyed begging routine seeking mere scraps from your table or an absent-minded pat on the head.  No, what you will see in my eyes is pure evil, the hallmark of a true Hound of Baskerville.  Now be on your way before I decide to rip your throat out! 


End file.
